


What the Mirror Shows

by TheGreenMeridian



Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, First Time, M/M, PWP, boris goes feral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:35:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22074847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreenMeridian/pseuds/TheGreenMeridian
Summary: “Boris?” Valery asks. “Are you... what are you doing?”“I’m looking. For you,” he says weakly, the second part of the explanation added by the handful of brain cells more interested in self preservation than Valery’s pale arse and whether that dusting of freckles goes between his cheeks.
Relationships: Valery Legasov/Boris Shcherbina
Comments: 18
Kudos: 92





	What the Mirror Shows

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Oh I'm sorry I didn't know you were--](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21547801) by [elenatria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenatria/pseuds/elenatria). 



> Well, I know I’ve been writing a lot of Terror stuff lately, so I thought it was about time I returned to my roots with another fic inspired by elenatria’s fantastic artwork, and some of the comments on it.
> 
> L1ttlesilkworm has already done this particular picture incredible justice, so please do go read ‘Heat Wave’ too!

There was a boy he’d known in the war, a skinny Chechen peasant, wide-eyed and fearful, and utterly unused to the way the cold winds so far north could slice through a man and leave him paralysed. They’d been sent to guard the perimeter, just the two of them. Not nearly enough men for the job, but then, they didn’t have enough of anything. Ruslan had huddled close in the pit they’d dug into the snow together, shivering and blue-lipped, desperate for warmth. Desperate to go home. He’d been terrified, and Boris had slung a friendly arm over his shoulder and made some joke or other, and somehow, in that foxhole surrounded by waist deep snow and expecting to get shot by a Finnish sniper at any moment, it had made perfect sense to kiss the blood back into his lips, to breathe warm air on the boy’s face, to feel something other than cold and fear and exhaustion.

It’s Ruslan he dreams of now, those rich brown eyes looking at him with trepidation and desire. The way Ruslan hesitated only a second before kissing him back with a moan, pushing close to him and rocking his hips. Ruslan’s gloved hands grasping at his back, wanting him, as willing as Boris to throw law and morality to the side for the sake of the all consuming need they had for each other.

“Borya please,” the man begs. He’s got a barely perceptible lisp from that gap between his teeth, the one Boris has found himself staring at every time it becomes visible.

Ruslan’s dark hair seems almost red in the half-light of polar evening, silky and thin. His eyes are blue now, and hidden by glasses with fingerprint smudges across the lenses. The light tan of his skin is becoming pale and tiny freckles are blooming across his forehead, with scars from acne or perhaps chicken pox marring his cheek. He’s older now, no longer skinny, but plush and warm under Boris’ roaming hands.

“Valera,” Boris groans.

And then his eyes fly open.

It’s possible he spoke aloud. It’s possible Valery heard him use that name for him. He looks around, eyes adjusting to the darkness, but Valery’s bed is empty, a sheet tossed half off the bed and his pillow too far down the bed. There is no Valery in the room. Which, while a good thing in terms of keeping his hunger for the man hidden, it does raise a more urgent problem than Boris’ homosexual urges reviving themselves after forty-odd years: where in the hell has Valery gone and what trouble has he gotten himself into?

Bleary eyed and still half hard, he stumbles from the bed and towards the bathroom. He will go and look for Valery, once he’s slapped some life into himself and splashed some water on his face. And maybe some on his crotch too, given the continuing heaviness of his dick.

As he rubs his eyes and pushes the door open, he hears a yelp and immediately takes his fingers from his eyelids. The sudden shock of harsh lighting blinds him momentarily, but as his vision slowly comes back, his heart begins racing. There in front of him, pyjama pants hanging low and vest rucked up, Valery stands looking over his shoulder with wide eyes to face the intruder. His hands are gripping his clothing, like he was in the process of redressing. Or undressing. Boris swallows and doesn’t meet his eye, though not for lack of trying. His gaze is drawn down by the galaxy of freckles covering Valery’s shoulders and arms, visible on his torso through the loose arm holes of the vest and disappearing into the collar of it to reappear between the dimples either side of Valery’s spine, going further south, spreading out over his-

“Boris?” Valery asks. “Are you... what are you doing?”

“I’m looking. For you,” he says weakly, the second part of the explanation added by the handful of brain cells more interested in self preservation than Valery’s pale arse and whether that dusting of freckles goes between his cheeks.

Valery clears his throat awkwardly, but he doesn’t adjust his clothing. Nor does he fully turn around. His ears have gone rosy pink at the top, so has the back of his neck. “You’ve found me. I’m sorry, when I’m stressed I wake up to piss a lot. Did I wake you? With the light?”

“No. No, I didn’t notice. I just woke up and you were gone.”

It sounds pathetic to his ears and certainly to Valery’s also. But still Valery hasn’t moved, and Boris, half asleep and half hard, is reaching out and pressing his thumb into that maddening little divot to the left of Valery’s spine. He snatches his hand back the instant Valery’s breath catches, shaking his head as if trying to bring himself back to reality. Reality does not include touching your friend like this, it cannot. It must not, there’s too much at stake. No matter how badly you’ve wanted to touch him in any way at all for almost the entire time you’ve known him.

“Sorry, I... fuck, I’m sorry. I’ll leave you to it.”

Thankfully his feet begin moving, and Valery finally moves too. But it’s not to cover himself, it’s to turn and grab Boris’ bare arm with a sweaty palm and a firm grip. “No. You touched me, you... why? What... what’s happening, Boris?”

“Valera,” he rasps, finally getting a look at Valery’s eyes. He’s back in his dream, he has to be. Pale blue, full of nervous tension and need. “I...”

Slowly, and only releasing his arm at the last possible moment as though expecting him to bolt, Valery turns. He grasps the sink, his arse jutting out and his shoulders hunched over. Through the reflection in the mirror, Boris can see him swallow and forcibly steady his breath. One hand leaves the sink, trembling but moving to push the waistband of his trousers lower still until it sits just below his generously round arse cheeks. Then the vest is tugged up. Not off. But up enough that the dimples are visible again, the downy red hair. The way he’s bent over the sink, his crack is spread open just enough for Boris to see that the freckles do indeed go further, teasing him, inviting him to explore.

“Borya,” Valery whispers. “You can look. And... touch. If you want to. I want you to.”

He’s on his knees with impressive speed for a man of his age, stroking over Valery’s arse, pushing the trousers down further so he can stroke the copper hair covering his thighs. Freckles, freckles everywhere, so many that they merge together and in some places become almost like a solid patch of darker skin. He presses Valery’s legs further apart and runs a hand between his thighs, letting his fingers graze the heavy swell of Valery’s balls before dragging back over his perineum and up through that tantalising crack. Valery gasps and rocks his hips back, seeking more, and Boris is desperate to give it to him. It’s impossible to stay quiet as he takes each luscious buttock in hand and carefully spreads him open, Valery is so soft and his flesh gives way so beautifully to his touch. He curses under his breath as Valery’s tight little hole is revealed. Dusky skin dotted with brown freckles, surrounded by more of that red hair, twitching under the intensity of his gaze. He exhales, needing a moment to grasp the reality of the situation fully: he is about to plunge his tongue inside his friend, and his friend wants him to do it. He adjusts his grip on Valery’s buttocks, maybe squeezing a little too hard in his appreciation of the plumpness of them, but Valery seems to enjoy it given how he moans and shudders. And then there is nothing else to do but shove his face between them, and lick and lick and lick.

“Borya! Borya please, oh god, I can’t... yes, fuck, keep- Ah!”

Valery’s insensible, desperate babbling turns into a reedy whine as Boris stops teasing him and breaches him with his tongue, fucking him with it, showing him the barest hint of how it would feel if Valery were to let him keep him bent over that sink and push the full length of his cock inside this perfect knot of muscles and nerve endings. Shuddering and gasping for breath, Valery pushes back against his face and Boris groans, low and deep, the vibrations travelling down his tongue and into Valery’s body.

“Fuck me. Fuck me, now, I need it,” Valery pants. He reaches back to thread his fingers into Boris’ hair, though he pushes him closer rather than pulls him off. “Oh fuck...”

Oh, how desperately Boris wants to obey him. He’s rock hard, aching wet against his stomach, the tip of him is peaking from the top of his pyjamas. One final wriggle of his tongue and then he’s on his feet again, easily breaking Valery’s grip on him. Valery shuffles back and bends over more, practically presenting his body for Boris’ use.

“Fuck, perfect, stay there,” Boris growls. Trousers kicked off, he spits in his hand and wets his cock with it, adding to the already generous amount of slick that’s been pouring from him in anticipation, and presses his head to the spit-slick entrance to Valery’s body. “Are you ready?”

Valery nods, and he pushes forward. He’s big, he knows he’s big, thick and long, enough that he’s lost girlfriends over it. Valery’s barely prepared at all, but he can’t wait. Neither of them can. The ring of muscle clamps down around him, barely letting him in even with Valery squirming and pushing back against him. A few shallow thrusts and he’s able to sink further as Valery gradually yields to him, but it’s still too tight, too fucking tight and oh god, he’s never felt anything like it. This is heaven. He’s died of radiation poisoning and this is his reward, Valery’s body struggling to accept him in his entirety as Valery himself moans his name and whimpers and begs. There’s no control left in him now, he grabs Valery’s hips and pushes the final few inches of himself in. Valery keens, collapsing against the sink and spasming around him, and Boris begins to fuck him with sharp snaps of his hips.

“Big,” Valery slurs. “Fuck, Borya, you...”

Boris wraps and arm around his chest and pulls him up against his body, making Valery see himself in the mirror. Letting them both see how slack Valery’s mouth has gone, how furrowed his brow is, how the pretty blush on his cheeks makes him look entirely too innocent for a fifty year old man with a cock shoved in him to the root.

“Look at you, so handsome like this, full of me. You feel so good Valera, so good, you’re taking me so well. So tight, fuck. I’ve wanted you so badly. Love your freckles. Love your body.”

He punctuates the final word with a particularly harsh thrust, and a litany of curses and pleas fall from Valery’s pretty pink lips. In the mirror, Valery’s eyes meet his, wild with blown pupils as Boris continues to fuck him. His insides squeeze and flutter around Boris’ length and his legs are still trembling. Never has Boris fucked someone so responsive, so desperate for him, so obviously lost in pleasure.

“Tell me,” he growls against Valery’s ear. “Tell me how it feels.”

“Oh god, I’m so full. So full, Borya. Never felt like this, I’m so close, please let me come. Please! I need it, please Borya, I can’t-“

“Shh, I’ll get you there. Tell me what you need, hm? Need me to pull you off?”

“No, no, like this. Keep- oh god, keep going.”

With a few careful changes to his stance, Boris is able to fuck up into him harder, striking that spot that he knows will have Valery spurting over the sink if only he can hold off his own climax long enough. He has to make Valery come first. He has to. He has to make it good for him, make Valery want to do this again because now he’s experienced the feel of Valery’s body, now he’s tasted his sweat, now he’s had his cock surrounded by velvet heat and tight muscles and been this deep inside him, he can’t survive without it. Valery’s babbling with every thrust now, his hand is scrabbling uselessly at Boris’ hip. Boris can see his nipples in the mirror, obviously pert under the vest. The sound he makes when Boris grabs one between his thumb and forefinger is animalistic, and Boris does it again, rougher, and that’s all Valery needs. His back arches against Boris’ chest, and he cries out with a desperate noise that could have been Boris’ name, shaking in his arms and clenching in hard pulses around him. It’s too much, he’s too tight, too beautiful when he comes, and Boris hasn’t seen or touched his cock, hasn’t even kissed him, and god he just wants to fuck Valery and be fucked by him and swallow his cock and come in him over and over until he can’t breathe, and oh god he’s losing it. He bites Valery’s freckled shoulder and forces him hard against the sink and groans as his hips stutter, pleasure peaking in waves, pulsing out his release into Valery’s willing body. Valery is milking it out of him with every aftershock that ripples through his body, and Boris is still fucking him with haphazard movements he has no control over. For a moment, it feels like it’ll never end, that he’ll just be stuck here coming and coming until he dies, and what a way to go.

Finally, Boris can breathe again. He slumps over Valery’s back, weak-legged and dizzy. Valery joins their hands together against his chest, and Boris nuzzles into his neck in return. Bliss. Sheer fucking bliss. Carefully he eases himself free of Valery’s body, immediately pushing two fingers against the swollen, tender entrance.

“Pass the towel, I’ll uh...” he mumbles, trailing off and feeling suddenly awkward.

“No,” Valery replies. “No, I... I like to... feel it.”

If Boris were younger he’d be ready to go again. Who knew this awkward, antisocial scientist had such a side to him? Gently, and with a lingering stroke to allow himself the immense satisfaction of feeling how stretched out and fucked Valery feels there, he pulls his hand away and Valery moans softly as a streak of come trickles down the inside of his thigh. It’s too much for Boris, too damn sexy and too strangely intimate to be allowed to watch this part of Valery’s sexuality. Taking his shoulders, he turns Valery to face him and presses their lips together for the first time. It’s chaste, even with bare cocks pressed together and Valery’s come smearing on his skin from where it soaked into the vest. He should have done this first, should have been more gentle. Should have shown Valery that what he feels for him... it’s not entirely about life affirming fucking in a foxhole. But it seems his meaning is clear from the way Valery pulls him close and puts a hand at the dip of his spine, and kisses him back with stunning tenderness and an unexpected confidence. With fumbling fingers, they strip each other of what little clothing remains, and stumble out of the bathroom. It’s Valery’s bed they reach first, so it’s Valery’s bed they tumble into, naked and exhausted, too exhausted for either of them to feel the need to talk about what this means. It’s easier just to pull Valery into him, to kiss his forehead, his cheek. It’s far too easy, really. And that’s how they fall asleep, Valery tucked under his chin and buried into his chest like a kitten. When they wake, it’s in the same position and with the sort of shared look that Boris knows means that yes, they will talk. But back in Moscow and without supervision. In Pripyat, they can only speak with kisses and touch, but it seems all they need for now.

**Author's Note:**

> The greenmeridian.tumblr.com


End file.
